Archives for category: Real Life


Ya know, moving really isn’t that much fun.
It can be exciting, sure.
But fun…no way.
And I’ve been having an exciting and un-fun week.
Full of heavy boxes, back sweat, dust bunnies, Tupperware without matching lids, a toddler learning how to use stairs, and an abundance of rogue coat hangers that seem to appear from no where.
But when the dust settles,
I have lots and lots to share.


Baby W works on mastering his pouty face–he has become an expert.
Today’s post inspired by Casey’s touching words yesterday.
Every night,
and I mean every night for the last two years,
at around 10 pm I start to dread my impeding bedtime.
Because I know that going to bed means another evening of unrest.
Of getting kicked in the face 20 or so times.
Of stopping a sleep-walking baby from roaming throughout the house.
Of tucking and re-tucking him in over a dozen times.
Of getting awoken at that very moment that my body starts to finally enter the REM cycle.
I close my laptop around 12 or 1 am,
grab a glass of water,
kiss the sleeping hubby on the cheek
and crawl into a bright red race car bed
next to a snoring babe.
I place a diaper at arms length
for a certain middle of the night change,
adjust the pillows just right,
and make sure the taggies on his blanket
are within reach of his little fingers.
And then I say a silent prayer,
that maybe tonight will be different.
Maybe tonight will be the night that things get better.
I say Amen,
roll over so his chubby cheeks are less than an inch from mine
and inhale deeply.
I love the way he smells.
like a baby.
like possibility.
like hope.
like my son.
I smile and give him a series of light kisses all over his face.
Then I pull his body in closer
wrap my arms around him,
and thank God for these moments.
So what if I failed at the Cry It Out Method,
or didn’t take the Baby Whisperer’s advice.
Because moments like these are fleeting.
Moments where he lets me play with his hair,
and enjoys getting a thousand kisses,
and wants me cuddling next to him at all times.
In these moments, I remember why it’s okay to be tired.
Why it’s okay to sometimes break the “rules of parenting”.
Why the small moments matter the most…
…and then I do my best to embrace them.
…although a full nights sleep would be nice.

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Shirt: Old Navy, Sweater: Old Navy, Pants: Banana Republic, Shoes: Bakers, Watch: Fossil, Ring: LMM
So a couple of things:
1. The idea was to wear all one color so as to highlight the fact that I finally painted my nails a color. But now I’m starting to think I just kinda look like a dolphin…a dolphin with yellow finger nails. 
2. Did you notice my new watch. I’m pretty smitten about it. It’s my late Momma’s Day gift from the hubs. I have been eyeing this watch by Michael Kors for over a year, but its $495 and that’s just cuh-razy! So I found mine at the Fossil outlet store for $85.
3. I love ya guys, I really do. Just wanted to put that out there.
4. Did you know that right now, the Gap and Banana Republic are having an additional 40% off their clearance items, right now.  Yep, its true. That’s how I got me these skinny cargo pants.  And we like BR because their sizes run large, so I always end up buying a size smaller than I really am–oh yeah, and they have skinny mirrors in the dressing rooms.

5. Have you ever wondered what happens when you accidentally use self-rising flour instead of normal flour when making chewy chocolate chip cookies? You get cookie biscuits–that turn into cookie rocks in 30 minutes.
6.   I added a whole bunch of goodies to the shop today. If ya feel like shopping, be sure to use the code: SUMMER for 10% OFF.
7. I have been a painting fool the last few days. Can’t wait to unveil all the refinished furniture.  Happy colors!
8. Final thought:


We’re Moving.
And we’re pretty excited about it.
We like change around these parts.
The hubs and I get the “itch” to move,
to try out a different neighborhood,
get a fresh start,
go on new adventures.
So we’re giving up our backyard,
in exchange for a quick walk from a back patio and down a greenbelt
to my favorite place in our little town.
The Lake.

And while I’m excited today,
I know that once all the pictures are off the walls,
all the boxes are packed
and our house is empty,
I’ll get all mushy gushy about leaving behind
the home where we started our little family.
The home where our son took his first steps,
got his first boo boo,
had his first visit from Santa
and said his first words.
The home where I burned my first turkey,
discovered my decor style,
and hosted my first BBQ.
This home marks our beginning,
and it will hold a special place in my heart forever.
Here’s to embracing the adventure that is change.


Dear Ga-Ma,

I love you because…
you have more patience with me than anyone.
you give me your undivided attention every second that we’re together.
you smell like baby powder.
you give my tummy kisses.
you always let me wear my comfy clothes.
you let me sit on the kitchen table to eat my lunch.
you have that really cool mole that I like to pinch.
you pick out the BEST toys.
you let me use your body as a jungle gym.
you slept the whole night in my race car bed with me–even though I kicked you in the face 100 times.
you change my poopy diapers even though it makes you gag.
you make me 10 different meals in an attempt to get me to eat, even though I never take a bite.
you always give my Mommy a break when she really needs it.
you taught my Mommy how to be awesome at it.
you give me presents.
you give me hugs.
you give me kisses.
you wake up at the break of dawn with me when you visit, so Mommy and Daddy can sleep in.
you let me watch what I want to watch on tv.
you are the prettiest grandma in the world.
you have a smile that makes me smile back.
you make me feel like the most important grandson in the universe.

Love, Baby W


Source: via Ashley on Pinterest

You are one of the best people I know.
You make me want to be a better ME.
You are an amazing Momma.
You are an example of strength.
You give me confidence.
You make me feel safe and loved.
You make me feel special.
You are the best listener.
Your son brightens my day.
You are truly beautiful.
You make me laugh, like belly-aching, tear-streaming laughter.
And I am grateful for your friendship.


The best blogging advice I ever received:
Only tell your story.
It’s not my place to tell someone else’s story for them,
to pretend I understand their choices,
their reasoning,
or their path in life.
The only story I know for sure
is my own.

Which is why I am sometimes conflicted on how to respond
to your emails and comments asking about my parents…
More specifically,
my single mom
and my dad.

And then I read Ree Drummond’s book,
Black Heels to Tractor Wheels,
where she talked about her parent’s divorce
as it related to her
without all the intimate details of their relationship.
And I thought to myself,
that is the story I want to tell.

High school sweet hearts,
married young,
divorced soon
with one healthy baby girl
to show for their short time together.
That is where our story begins.

I have no doubts that they were in love,
and I have no doubts that I brought them both great joy.
But eventually, real life and hardships dissolved their young love
and ultimately their marriage.

I was one year old when they divorced.

Growing up I never questioned why they weren’t still together,
I just questioned why he was never around.

A handful of visits a year,
and a few special occasions
I would see him.

We always had fun,
we always giggled,
ate good food,
watched basketball,
talked about the Dodgers,
and played horse in the driveway.

But then he left,
and I was back to not having a Dad.

I remember practicing throwing the perfect spiral
and swishing my three point shot
just so I could impress him the next time we were together.
Maybe then he would visit more.

I invited him to my soccer games,
my awards banquets,
my back to school nights
and all those things parents go to
to support their kids.

But my Aunt was always sitting in his place.
Then one day when I was 15, he showed up.

It was my club soccer game.
I had been playing for 6 years,
and this was one of the first games he had made it to.
I scored three goals,which is kinda a big deal.

I’ll never forget how proud he was.
The look on his face,
the enthusiasm and power behind his high five,
and the way he introduced himself to the other parents as
my Dad.

I had over 50 more soccer games in my high school career,
and after that day, my Dad never missed a single one.

If it wasn’t about sports,
my Dad was generally a man of few words.
But over the next few years he began to open up.
We started having weekly dinners,
went on afternoon runs,
and shared talks about life and the past.

It might have been too late for the typical father/daughter relationship
so we worked on creating a friendship.

Sure, there were days when I was hurt.
But I was never angry with him,
never lashed out,
never expected more than I knew he was capable of giving.
I just hoped that one day he could give me more.

Instead, I developed this image in my mind
of the type of father my kids would have.
The type of Father who always showed up.
The type of Father who would fight for his kids,
who’s heart would ache if he had to be away from them for even one day,
who tucked them in with bedtime stories and butterfly kisses every night.

And then I took that image,
I found that guy,
and I married him.

Today my Dad is one of my best friends.
He shows up for everything important to Baby W.
He takes him to the park,
helps him down the slide,
teaches him to throw a ball
and smothers him with kisses.

Today, he is the Grandpa who shows up,
the Grandpa who get’s choked up when Baby W skins his knee,
the Grandpa who loves,
the Grandpa who gives butterfly kisses,
the Grandpa Baby W can count on.
And that’s just the type of Father I need right now.